Shadowmire (Starweaver #1)

Prologue

The first time water spoke to me, I was four.

A summer storm had passed, leaving puddles still as glass in the gravel driveway. I crouched beside one, tracing loops and swirls through the mirrored surface—until the lines held. Just for a second. As if the water itself was listening. Watching.

My father saw.

He didn’t speak. Just lifted me in his arms, carried me inside, and locked the door behind us.

I remember him more than the magick—the terror in his eyes, the tremble in his hands, the way he went to every window in our house and drew the curtains shut.

There were whispered phone calls that followed.

Meetings with strangers who poked and prodded me.

I never forgot that day.

But the magick never forgot me either.